"All very well," he returned. "But I'm a director, and assistant general manager of Food Products—which is a big thing here. If I went to Indianapolis, where'd I be? I've no pull up there."
Macgowan's thin lips curved slightly at this.
"Then you don't care to handle bigger things?"
"Of course I do!" snapped Slosson. "Will you give me a chance at 'em?"
"Yes," said Macgowan coolly. "Yes. Not now, though. Later on—when some things that are in the air have worked around right."
"Good! Then count on me. Between the two of us, Food Products is going to pieces soon."
Macgowan merely nodded indifferently. "Why?" he asked.
Slosson shrugged.
"How the devil should I know? Business depression, of course. We have a good line and it sells, but luck's against us. There's Deming now. Good lord! Look at his face!"
The two men turned. Their host had halted in the doorway and was signing the book of a messenger. A telegram was in his hand.